Acceptance
by BexTheLabRat
Summary: House and Wilson are both struggling with their guilt after the events of Wilson's Heart, but when Wilson falls ill, how far will House go to save him? Spoilers for end of season 4. Strictly Gen - T rating due to swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: House and Wilson are both struggling with their guilt after the events of Wilson's Heart, but when Wilson falls ill, how far will House go to save him?

Author's Note: I've only recently discovered House and now I've run out of episodes to watch, I thought I'd try my hand at my first House M.D. fanfic. I'm new to the genre so please don't be too mean. I don't have a medical degree, so while research has been done, the medicine probably won't be entirely accurate. I've tried to be as true to the characters as I can and I hope you enjoy the story.

--

'You have hayfever,' Dr. Gregory House was informing his latest victim as the door to exam room one swung open, 'next time you feel the need to self-medicate, try some over the counter anti-histamines or some herbal tea if you must. Ramming ginger root so far up your nose that the only way to remove it is by full frontal lobotomy should definitely go on your 'things to avoid' list, though if I see you in here again I may be tempted to perform the procedure myself.'

Dr. Lisa Cuddy looked on in amusement from the doorway as the seventeen year-old target of House's sarcasm made a dash for the exit. Once the entertainment was at an end she turned her attention to the diagnostician, who was idly twirling his cane.

'I've never seen the clinic this empty,' the administrator shot House a questioning glance, 'the nurse outside said you've seen 147 patients today. That's one patient roughly every three minutes for the past eight hours. Normally I can't get you near the clinic on pain of death. Is there something you want to talk about?' Cuddy attempted not to sound overly concerned, though in truth she was becoming increasingly worried about her head of diagnostics' state of mind. Ever since his involvement in the bus accident that had claimed the life of Amber Volakis, and his futile and self-harming attempts to save her, the man had barely said a word to anyone unless it was directly related to his work. House's relationship with his best friend, and Amber's lover, James Wilson, was understandably strained. Both men were carrying their share of guilt over the incident – House's actions had been directly responsible for Amber's presence on the bus, while Wilson regretted pushing his friend to risk his life in a futile attempt to save her. Unable to confide in Wilson, House had become uncharacteristically silent.

'Let me think…' House replied, 'um…nope.' The cane twirling became more elaborate as he focused solely upon it in the hope that Cuddy would take the hint and go away.

'House, you can't go on like this,' Cuddy sighed in frustration.

'What?' the diagnostician lifted his head before continuing sarcastically, 'treating patients? Actually turning up for my clinic hours? God forbid!'

'House…'

'Dr Cuddy, I am fine,' House stood to leave, 'now unless there was something you wanted?' Cuddy lowered her eyes to the floor, not quite knowing how to bring up the reason for her visit. House wasn't fooled for a second. 'Ok, out with it,' he ordered, 'what is it that you want?'

'Have you heard from Wilson recently?'

'Cuddy…'

'He called in sick yesterday morning and I've not heard from him since,' Cuddy interrupted before the diagnostician leaped to the wrong conclusion. 'I'm worried about him, House. I thought that maybe…' she left the remainder of the sentence unfinished.

House locked eyes with his boss for a few moments, checking for an ulterior motive before finally nodding.

'I'll deal with it,' he promised.

--

'Jimmy?'

Wilson felt a cool hand come to rest on his cheek and did his best to bat it away before opening his eyes. A pair of clear blue eyes came into focus in front of his face. If he didn't know better, he'd have said House looked _worried_.

'Go 'way House, let me die in peace,' he managed to mumble. He closed his eyes again, but not quickly enough to miss the mortified look that passed across his friend's features. He cringed inwardly. 'I meant…' he sighed, 'please House, I'm just not up to dealing with this right now.'

'How long have you had that fever?' Wilson sighed. Clearly House wasn't going to be easily deterred.

'I don't know. Day before yesterday sometime. Please, just leave me alone.' In response, a thermometer was inserted gently into his open mouth. His hand reached up immediately to remove it but was quickly thwarted by House.

'Leave that alone or I'll break out the rectal thermometer,' his friend threatened. The device bleeped to signal completion of the test and the diagnostician examined it closely. 'A hundred and five,' he announced. 'If it gets any higher I'll have to admit you.'

'I have the flu, House. I'll be fine if you'll just leave me alone,' Wilson protested weakly. He glanced around the hotel room he had called home ever since Amber's death. It hadn't seemed right to keep living in her apartment after everything that had happened. How had House managed to get in here anyway? He felt his friend's weight lift from the edge of the bed and for a moment thought his wishes were being honoured. He should have known better. He was even more surprised, however, when a damp cloth was gently pressed against his forehead. 'House..?' he murmured questioningly.

'We need to get your fever down a little,' House replied, 'like I said, if it gets any higher, I'm going to have to admit you. Can you even imagine how much extra paperwork that would be?' Wilson smiled slightly.

'You don't do paperwork,' he pointed out. 'They found it in the janitor's closet, remember?' House smirked slightly at the memory and pressed two tablets into the younger man's hand. 'I'm fine House, really,' Wilson insisted, 'I just haven't slept all that much over the last few weeks.'

'Take the pills,' was his friend's only response.

--

House paced, ignoring the agonising pain shooting through his right leg. It had been almost an hour and neither the cold compress nor the ibuprofen tablets he had forced his friend to take were having any effect on Wilson's fever. The younger man had fallen into a fitful slumber, his restlessness interspersed with unintelligible ramblings. The diagnostician could no longer hide his concern – he was by now almost certain that the younger man was not, as he claimed, suffering from a simple case of flu. House was beginning to suspect something far more sinister. He decided that he had no choice but to wake and closely examine the ailing oncologist. He reached across the bed and shook his friend awake. He was rewarded with a confused stare as Wilson attempted to focus on the older man's face.

'House, what are you doing here?' he blinked again as the world failed to come into focus. 'Damn, my head hurts.'

'You're sick, Wilson,' House explained in a surprisingly patient tone of voice, 'I need to examine you. I need you to sit up. This is important, Wilson,' he added as his friend opened his mouth to object. Reluctantly and with House's help, Wilson managed to pull himself to a sitting position. House began his examination, which Wilson quietly tolerated until House attempted to examine his eyes with a penlight.

'Jeez, House. Headache, remember?' Wilson flung his arm across his face, refusing to move it until he had extracted a promise from his friend not to make any further attempts to use the penlight. House readily assented.

'Ok Wilson, just one more test, I promise,' he continued, 'I need you to roll your head from side to side like this.' House demonstrated and moments later a panicked look appeared on the oncologist's face. The fear was evident in his voice when he replied.

'I don't think I can.'

'_Shit,'_ House thought, _'diagnosis confirmed.'_ He picked up the phone and began to dial.

'Who are you calling?' Wilson wanted to know. House sighed heavily.

'I'm arranging some transport – we need to get to the hospital.' The younger man looked surprised. He glanced quizzically at his friend.

'House, I don't think I'm up to going to work right now. You of all people should…' He was unable to complete his sentence as the diagnostician gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes.

'I'm not making you go to work, you idiot. I'm calling an ambulance and having you admitted. You don't have the flu; you do in fact, in all probability, have bacterial meningitis and the longer you sit here arguing with me, the longer we delay treatment and the greater the chance that you'll die. Now since I have no intention of allowing that to happen, I'd appreciate it if you'd stay put and let me call the damned ambulance.'

Wilson looked as though he had been slapped in the face. He sat in silence as his friend made two calls, the first to request an ambulance and the second to Lisa Cuddy, who promised to have everything they needed on standby when they arrived. Finally, he noticed that he once again had the diagnostician's attention.

'House,' he began, surprised how terrified his voice sounded. 'I don't think I want to die.' House took a seat next to his friend so that their shoulders were touching. Wilson rested his head on House's shoulder, knowing that this was the closest he was ever likely to get to a hug from the older man. The diagnostician shook his head.

'Weren't you listening?' he replied softly. 'I said I had no intention of letting that happen.'

'You promise?' Wilson asked hesitantly, craving reassurance.

'I promise,' his friend replied, then, so quietly that Wilson wasn't sure he heard it at all, the older man continued, 'I already failed you once. I'm sure as hell not going to fail you again.'

--

'Are you sure about this?' Lisa Cuddy greeted House as the ambulance arrived at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

'Absolutely,' he replied immediately, 'even you could have diagnosed it.' Given the circumstances, Cuddy decided to overlook the insult and instead followed closely as House began to address his team.

'Foreman, I want an LP, STAT. As soon as that's done, I want you two,' he pointed at Thirteen and Kutner, 'in the lab running cultures on his spinal fluid. Taub, start him on penicillin, cephalosporin and vancomycin then grab as many cold packs as you can. We need to lower his core temperature before it causes any complications. Any questions? Good, then get on with it.'

--

James Wilson drifted in and out of consciousness. He could feel the chill of the ice packs surrounding him but he was so hot he felt he might spontaneously combust at any moment. The constant beeping of machinery in the background let him know that they had arrived at the hospital but he had no idea how long he had been there. He knew that both House and Cuddy were in the room with him – he could hear their voices but they sounded distant, as though he was hearing them from underwater. Focusing hard, he fought to make out their conversation.

'The ice packs seem to be doing their job,' Cuddy was saying, 'his core temperature's down to a hundred and three, though the antibiotics don't seem to be having any effect.'

'He admitted he hadn't been sleeping,' House's voice cut in. 'The idiot probably hasn't been feeding himself properly either. God only knows what no sleep and virtually no food will have done to his immune system.'

'He was grieving, House.'

'You don't need to tell me that,' Wilson heard House respond angrily, 'Amber was on that bus because of me and she died because I couldn't save her. Then just to prove how fantastic a friend I am, I leave him to go through this by himself because I'm too afraid of looking into his eyes and finding out that my best friend hates me. Doesn't matter now anyway - nobody could hate me as much as I hate myself right now.'

Wilson struggled to regain consciousness; he had to set the record straight. Okay, maybe he had been angry with House for getting drunk and calling Amber in the middle of the night but surely his friend couldn't really believe that the bus crash had been his fault. House needed to understand that Amber's death had been nothing more than a tragic accident. Wilson reached out and weakly squeezed his friend's hand.

'Don't…hate…you,' he gasped, surprised at the effort it was taking him to talk. Surprisingly, House made no effort to break physical contact with his friend. Instead he took his free hand and placed it on the younger man's shoulder.

'You should rest, Jimmy,' he admonished. Wilson, however, was far from done.

'Amber…wasn't your fault,' he began. 'Sometimes…people…just die.' House shook his head sadly.

'You're not dying, Jimmy.'

'Liar.'

'Wilson.'

'I'm sorry, Greg.'

'Jimmy, don't.'

'I'm sorry I…risked your life,' Wilson was not to be dissuaded. He needed to get this off his chest before he no longer had the chance. 'I was so…caught up in…Amber…I forgot how much I…need you too.' House was lost for words. Much as he longed to return the sentiment, he had never been any good at expressing his emotions. If he started now, Wilson really would believe he was dying. Instead he tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder.

'I'm not going to let you die, Jimmy,' he promised again.

Moments later the alarms around the bed sounded. Wilson's eyes rolled back into his head and he was caught in the grip of a seizure.

--

He's stable for now,' Cuddy stated unnecessarily to fill the silence, 'but we won't know whether there'll be any permanent damage until he regains consciousness. The antibiotics aren't working.' House was glad she hadn't said '_if_ he regains consciousness.' That possibility didn't even bear thinking about.

'Where the hell are Thirteen and Kutner with those cultures?' House grumbled, 'They've been gone six hours. Surely they should have had some results by now. I'm going down to the lab.' He took one last look at Wilson then turned his attention back to Cuddy.

'I'll stay with him,' she promised in response to the unasked question.

--

'We have a problem,' Thirteen greeted House as he limped through the door of the lab, 'Dr. Wilson has been infected by an antibiotic-resistant form of _Streptococcus pneumoniae_. We've tested everything we have and there's only one thing we've tried that's even got a chance of working.'

'So what's the problem?' House demanded. 'We only need to kill the damn things once.'

'The only antibiotic the strain is sensitive to was withdrawn from clinical trials last month. We're supposed to have disposed of our stocks but the haven't been collected for incineration yet. The trial was cancelled after a patient died. It was thought that the antibiotic was the primary cause of the liver failure that led to his death.'

'Were there other patients on the trial?'

'Four others made a complete recovery,' Thirteen admitted, 'but the drug isn't approved. If we give it to Dr. Wilson it could kill him.'

'Don't you think I know that?' House snapped back. 'We need to try it out on another subject before we give it to Wilson. If we know the antibiotic definitely works _in vivo_ then it'll be worth the risk.' Kutner was shocked.

'You're talking about deliberately infecting another human being just to try out the antibiotic?' he asked in disbelief. 'That's beyond unethical!'

'No,' House replied as he identified a live culture and sucked a small volume into a syringe, 'I'm talking about infecting myself with the strain just to try out the antibiotic.' Thirteen gasped.

'You can't inject millions of bacteria directly into your bloodstream – it'll kill you!'

'If Wilson dies, what difference does it make?' House countered.

'You suffered a severe head trauma just a few weeks ago,' Kutner argued back, 'your immune system will already be compromised.'

'Good, the infection will spread faster,' House pointed out.

'And your pain medication already compromises your liver function,' Thirteen added, 'even if this antibiotic does destroy your liver, that doesn't mean it will have the same effect on Dr. Wilson.'

'Ah, but if it doesn't destroy my liver, chances are that it won't destroy Wilson's either,' House decided. Thirteen made one last ditch attempt to talk sense into the head of diagnostics.

'House, you're not thinking logically. None of this makes sense! All you're going to end up doing is killing yourself. This isn't going to help Wilson!'

'Sorry, Thirteen,' House replied as he jabbed the syringe into his forearm and expelled the contents into a vein. 'Wait an hour then administer the antibiotics. In a few hours we'll find out whether I get to live or die. If this doesn't work, tell Foreman I'm relying on him to find another way of saving Wilson.'

--

To be continued...probably... evil grin


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Thank you all for the wonderful feedback and for not being mean about the story. Here's another chapter. There may be more soon because it's a bank holiday weekend, which means no work till Tuesday! Woohoo!

--

'What the hell were you thinking?' Cuddy was really angry now, as angry as House had ever seen her. He had hoped that by failing to mention his little experiment, he would have been able to avoid this conversation. Evidently his new employees weren't quite as under control as he had hoped. He sighed in resignation, knowing that when his boss was in full rant mode, there was no way that he would be able to stop her.

'You injected millions of the bacteria that are _killing_ Dr. Wilson _directly_ into your bloodstream, knowing damn well that they were multidrug resistant. You know what problems that can cause? The endocarditis alone could be fatal, especially in someone who had a self-inflicted heart attack four weeks ago, not to mention the possibility of multiple organ failure. Tell me one thing. ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF?'

'Cuddy, listen…' House attempted to make his point while his employer paused for breath.

'No House, you listen! What you did was insane, it was reckless and it was selfish. James needs you here _now_ to get him through this. What he does not need is you deliberately making yourself sick and getting yourself killed first so you don't have to watch him suffer while you labour under the misapprehension that the rest of us don't give a damn! Well here's a newsflash! I care about Wilson and I care about you and I do not want to sit here and WATCH YOU DIE!' Tears were streaming down her face and she made no attempt to wipe them away as she glared at her head of diagnostics, daring him to respond.

'You're mad at me, aren't you, Mommy?' House ventured, putting on his best air of innocence. Cuddy managed a weak smile. She shook her head sadly.

'House, what am I going to do with you?' She asked, finally drying her eyes. 'Please, just tell me why.'

'Cuddy, this is Wilson,' House answered, surprised she'd even had to ask. 'If there's even a chance… I had to try.'

'I know,' she nodded, fully aware that contrary to apperances, House would go to great lengths to protect his friend. 'I just… House, you're sweating.'

'I know,' the diagnostician replied nonchalantly. 'Fever started twenty minutes ago along with mild tachycardia. I needed to make sure the infection had taken hold before I injected the antibiotic.' Cuddy placed two fingers against House's neck, serving the dual purpose of checking the man's pulse and the extent of his fever.

'I think it's time,' she said softly. House nodded solemnly.

'Bring on the wonder drug,' he agreed.

--

'You look like hell.'

If looks could kill, Thirteen would have dropped right there and then under the force of House's glare. Her department head was curled on his side, dripping with sweat but shivering despite his high fever. The monitors Cuddy had insisted he be attached to indicated both that his heart rate was elevated and his blood pressure low. His breathing was rapid and shallow and he clutched protectively at his stomach. He had spent the five minutes since she entered the room vomiting into the waste paper basket Cuddy had thoughtfully left within reach.

'Thank you for that expert medical opinion,' House replied acidly. He really wasn't in the mood for verbal sparring with his underlings. He was too busy trying to prevent his stomach from ending up in the waste paper basket alongside his dinner. 'What do you want?'

'It's been an hour since we administered the antibiotic but it'll be another few hours before we know whether it's working. In the meantime we need to monitor your liver function and keep an eye on your vitals. So far you're only exhibiting the symptoms of bacteremia but if the antibiotic doesn't have an effect, you'll go into septic shock within the next three hours. You'll probably be dead in four to five. Frankly given the number of bacteria in your bloodstream, I'm surprised you're not dead already.'

'Thanks for the sympathy,' House growled. 'If you need blood, get your ass over here and take it. Has Foreman come up with any alternative options yet?' The young woman sighed.

'He's been on the phone since the lab tests came back trying to get hold of a safer drug but so far he's got nothing.'

'How's Wilson?' Thirteen was amazed to see real fear behind her boss's eyes but it didn't take her long to realise that the fear was not for himself. House had always tackled the subject of his own death head-on and with complete nonchalance. Given the number of times he had come close to actually killing himself with one dangerous stunt after another, Thirteen had believed the man to be totally fearless. What she hadn't expected from House was the vulnerability that came from being dependent on another human being. House may not have been fearful of his own death, but he was desperately afraid of losing Wilson. Thirteen's thoughts towards the man suddenly became more sympathetic.

'He's holding his own for now, but he hasn't regained consciousness since the seizure. Cuddy's worried that if we don't start treatment in the next few hours, we're going to lose him. We'll wait another three hours and if your condition doesn't significantly deteriorate and your liver function stays normal, she's decided we'll have to risk the drug.'

'And if I die?' House demanded.

'Then we give him high doses of conventional antibiotics and hope that they have some effect before either the meningitis or the antibiotic overdose kills him.' House shivered, and Thirteen wasn't sure whether it was as a result of his condition or her words.

'When you go in there,' House began, realising how pathetic he sounded, 'tell him I said to hold on. Tell him I'm not going to break my promise.' Thirteen finished drawing blood from House's arm and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

'I'll tell him,' she promised. 'Get some rest, I'll be back soon.' In response, House simply groaned, rolled over and grabbed for the waste paper basket.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thanks to you all for the continued reviews - I really appreciate them and they do help me write faster. :) Here's another short chapter before I go out and start on all the things I _should_ be doing this weekend. More soon, I promise!

--

Lisa Cuddy glanced questioningly at Dr. Kutner, who was hovering in the doorway. She was sitting beside Wilson's bed, her small hand enclosing his larger one. She had been sitting in this position since she had forced House to take a bed in the adjacent room, intent on keeping her promise to the diagnostician that she would take care of his friend.

'How is he?' she asked, knowing that House's team had been keeping a close eye on him over the last several hours. Kutner grimaced.

'His liver function's still within normal parameters and blood tests show the presence of large numbers of dead bacteria. The antibiotic is definitely working and we're as sure as we're going to be that it's safe to try out on Dr. Wilson.'

'But?' Cuddy questioned, knowing from the young man's facial expression that there would be bad news to come.

'I know it's not my place to judge the actions of my superiors,' Kutner began, 'but the number of bacteria he introduced into his sytem was insane. The bacterial lysis is causing the release of toxins into his bloodstream and his immune system is reacting. His fever is dangerously high and he's alternating between unconsciousness and delirium. House is very sick. Even though the infection's gone it could still kill him.'

Cuddy sighed in frustration. House had been right yet again and his actions could well save the life of his friend, but at what cost? She nodded tiredly.

'Start Dr. Wilson's treatment,' she ordered. A shrill bleeping noise drew her attention back to the man lying in the bed. 'Get me some help in here,' she demanded. She could only watch helplessly as Wilson's seizures began again.

--

House looked up to see Lisa Cuddy staring down at him. Her eyes were red and blotchy and she was unable to hide the stains from the rivulets of tears that had been streaming down her face. House's heart dropped into his stomach and he felt a chill slowly creeping through his body.

'Cuddy?' He asked, almost dreading the answer.

'I'm sorry, House. He… There was too much… We couldn't…'

'No,' House whispered, unable to take it in. 'Wilson wouldn't leave. He wouldn't give up.'

'I just came to say goodbye.' House blinked, then blinked again. He was unmistakably seeing the figure of James Wilson hovering inches behind Lisa Cuddy. He sighed.

'You're not here, Wilson,' House rationalised, 'I don't believe in any of this stuff, remember?'

'Just because you don't believe in it doesn't make it any less real,' Wilson countered patiently. 'I have to go, but I wanted to say goodbye first.'

'You know this isn't really happening,' House argued back, refusing to admit defeat.

'What about Amber? On the bus? Was that real?'

'I never told you about that.'

'I'm dead, House.'

'We're not having this conversation, Wilson.'

'Goodbye, House. I have to go.' Wilson turned to leave.

'Take me with you,' House pleaded desperately. Wilson smiled sadly and turned back to his friend.

'You know I can't do that.' As Wilson slowly faded from sight, House turned onto his side and began to cry.

--

Lisa Cuddy looked down at the tears falling from her chief diagnostician's eyes and reached out to brush them away. He started awake, making a feeble attempt to sit up before she firmly pressed his shoulders back onto the bed.

'Take it easy, House,' she murmured, sweeping her hand across his forehead in a gesture of comfort that the diagnostician would never allow if he were well, 'You've been pretty sick but your fever's broken now. You were lucky, we think you're going to be okay.' She wasn't prepared for his response.

'What difference does it make?'

'House?' she questioned worriedly.

'I failed, Cuddy. What does it matter any more?' The stubbon spark that had always kept the diagnostician going way beyond the limits of his physical endurance was gone, replaced by a resigned look of surrender. House had given up.

'House, what are you talking about?' Cuddy once again laid her hand on House's head, her eyes pleading with him for some kind of explanation.

'He's dead, Lisa. I couldn't save him.' For Cuddy, realisation dawned.

'House, why would you think…'

'He came to say goodbye, Lisa.' Cuddy didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

'House,' she explained, 'you were delirious. When the bacteria started to die they broke down in your bloodstream and elevated your immune response. You've been out of it for hours. Wilson had another seizure while you were unconscious but we started him on the antibiotics a few hours ago. I can't say it's looking great but he's holding on. Don't give up on him just yet.'

'He isn't dead?' Cuddy shook her head and House started to laugh bitterly, the sound soon turning into a strangled sob. Wordlessly Cuddy reached out and pulled her friend into a hug. House didn't pull away.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Thanks again for the feedback. Here's my fourth instalment of the story. Hope you enjoy it. Warning: this chapter has some entirely in-canon Wilson/Amber.

--

Lisa Cuddy felt drained. The events of the past twenty-four hours had taken their toll and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep. If she felt like this, she considered, she couldn't even imagine what the man sitting next to her was going through.

'You should be resting, House.' The diagnostician glanced across from his position in the chair next to Wilson's bed. He had been sitting there for hours, ever since he had somehow summoned the energy to drag himself out of bed and stagger to the room next door. The ordeal had been painful for Cuddy to watch, but no amount of argument had been able to dissuade the man from making his way to the bedside of his unconscious friend.

'I am resting,' the man gave her a look that suggested her IQ was well below average. 'This is me sitting in a chair, _resting._ See?' He opened his arms wide as though he had just imparted some great revelation. Cuddy sighed.

'You're not resting, House. You're worrying.' She was rewarded with a snort.

'The big, bad, evil Dr. House. Worrying? Surely not!'

'You're not fooling anyone, House.' Cuddy laid a hand on his shoulder, which he immediately shrugged off. Clearly the brief period of vulnerability during which House would accept comfort was over. Cuddy didn't know whether to be relieved that House was feeling better or frustrated that he wouldn't accept her help. 'You're going to make yourself sick.' House rolled his eyes.

'That would be a novelty…'

'Maybe I didn't phrase that quite right,' Cuddy began more firmly. 'You're going to make yourself sick again. For no reason. Through sheer stupidity.'

'He hasn't woken up yet,' House answered stubbornly. 'I'll leave when he knows I've kept my promise.'

'The infection is dying but with the amount of swelling in his brain, it could be hours before he wakes up, if he wakes up at all. You need rest now,' Cuddy was insistent.

'Fine, I'll rest,' House agreed. He dropped his head onto Wilson's mattress and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep. Cuddy rolled her eyes.

'Stubborn ass,' she muttered.

--

House was awoken from a deep sleep to the sound of the insistent bleeping of the machinery surrounding Wilson's bed. Something was wrong.

'Wilson?' he demanded, lifting his head. He was quickly pulled out of the way by Cuddy.

'Blood pressure's dropping,' Taub was saying to nobody in particular as House stared across at the figure lying in the bed. 'Heart and respiration rate are dropping. I think we're losing him.' House's heart once again dropped into his stomach.

'Wilson?' he called desperately. He attempted to stand and make his way back to his friend's bedside but was restrained by Lisa Cuddy. 'Wilson?' he yelled again more insistently. Finally he managed to drag himself to a standing position.

'His body's shutting down,' Foreman was informing them as House struggled with Cuddy's surprisingly strong grip, 'There's nothing we can do. The illness has taken its toll on his body and it just can't take any more. I'm sorry, House, he's dying.'

'The hell he is,' the diagnostician growled, finally shaking free of Cuddy's hold. He staggered the few steps to his friend's bedside and took the oncologist's head in his hands. 'Wilson, you get your ass back here right now,' he demanded, eliciting surprised glances from his fellows. 'Don't you even think about dying on me or I'll kick your ass so hard…' his tone softened a little. 'I know I made you a promise but I need some help here, Jimmy. Fight, damn it!'

House turned to speak to Cuddy, spinning much more quickly than his weakened body could handle. 'Oh, crap,' he muttered as everything around him continued to move.

'House?' the administrator stepped forward, instantly aware that something was wrong. House opened his mouth and she could only watch helplessly as he turned a pale white and vomited over her shoes. Wordlessly she stepped forward and House collapsed into her arms, unconscious.

--

James Wilson opened his eyes to find himself sitting in what seemed to be an empty bus. He glanced around, noting that the steamy windows obscured the world outside, making the bus feel like the only place in the universe. Suddenly, he felt a presence beside him and turned to see Amber. He couldn't decide whether she had simply appeared or whether she had always been there. He sighed and rubbed his hand across his face.

'Am I dead?' he asked. Amber wrapped her arms around him and placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

'Not yet,' she murmured, 'You can still go back.' Wilson looked up, staring his girlfriend directly in the eye.

'What if I want to stay here with you?' Amber smiled cryptically.

'House wanted to stay too, but he couldn't.' Wilson's eyes widened.

'House was here?' Amber nodded.

'After the seizure.' A flicker of guilt passed through Wilson's eyes as he remembered forcing his friend to go through the deep brain stimulation that led to the seizure.

'And I have to go back too?' Wilson sighed. He was surprised by Amber's response.

'You can stay.'

'But you said…' Wilson hadn't realised it was possible to get confused in the afterlife.

'You can go back, or you can stay. You have to decide.' Wilson didn't hesitate.

'I want to be with you.' Amber smiled and pressed a finger to his lips.

'Don't decide yet,' she soothed. 'You have to see what you'd be leaving.'

'But…' Amber pressed the finger more firmly onto his lips then took his hand.

'Shhh,' she reminded him, 'come with me.'

Wilson found himself standing in his hospital room staring down at his dying form. Feeling a little like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, he gripped Amber's hand more tightly.

'Why have you brought me here?' he asked. Amber reached out and ran her fingers across his face.

'You have to see,' she said again, keeping a firm hold on his hand.

'I have to watch myself die?' he asked incredulously.

'Look around, James.' Wilson glanced around the room, taking in the sight of Lisa Cuddy working her way through a pile of paperwork at his bedside then turning his attention to the pale form of his best friend sleeping awkwardly by his side. The fact that House was sleeping in a hospital gown alerted Wilson that something was wrong. Before he could ask, however, the monitors beside his bed began to alarm and the entire of House's team rushed into the room. Wilson watched as his vital signs began to fade, he watched as House tried his own version of pleading to make him stay and he watched as the unconscious form of his friend was placed on a gurney and wheeled into the adjacent room. He reached out and attempted to touch his friend. Before his arm extended fully, however, he found himself once again sitting on the bus with Amber.

'What happened to him?' Wilson needed to know. 'Why is he so sick?' After a few moments' silence, Amber told him. Wilson sighed heavily and rested his head in his hands.

'Thank you for not letting me make a big mistake,' he began. 'I have to go back.' Amber smiled and nodded in response.

'I know.' Wilson pulled his girlfriend close one last time.

'I love you,' he began, burying his head in her shoulder.

'I love you too,' she answered, kissing him gently. 'You have to get off the bus, James.' Wilson nodded and began walking towards the front of the bus. He turned one last time.

'When I come back, eventually…' he began.

'I'll be here,' she promised. The oncologist nodded, took a deep breath and stepped off the bus.

Back in the hospital room, Wilson's vitals began to stabilise.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long to finish – real life, work, etc. got in the way again and I wanted to make sure I got the personalities right and have tried to keep as in-character as possible. Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback and behold the final chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know. :)

--

House awoke slowly, concluding that he must be dead. Nobody could feel this bad and still be alive. His head throbbed and every muscle in his body ached. If he didn't know better, he'd believe he'd just gone ten rounds with a garbage truck. He allowed himself to drift, not quite knowing where he was or how he'd managed to get there. Eventually he became aware of a warmth surrounding his left hand and opened his eyes to see Lisa Cuddy fast asleep in the chair next to his bed, her hand wrapped tightly over his. His movement caused her to stir and her sleepy eyes met his. She smiled.

'Hey,' she whispered, reaching out and placing her palm gently on his cheek. 'How are you feeling?'

House opened his mouth to answer, but was only able to generate a low moan.

'Don't worry, House, whether you deserve it or not, you're going to be fine.' Cuddy continued to stroke his cheek. House fought to keep his eyes open. The fuzziness in his head made the thought process difficult but he knew there was something he needed to ask. Not quite being able to figure out what it was, he settled for the obvious.

'Wht hpned?' House managed to murmur. Cuddy peered down at him concernedly.

'You don't remember?' House thought hard for a moment and the scenes gradually emerged into his conscious memory. Oh crap, he had thrown up all over Cuddy, hadn't he? She was going to be so mad when she stopped being worried. As the memories continued to re-emerge, the rest of the scene played back in his head. Shit. He had been in the ICU and Wilson had been dying. Did that mean..? Panic in his eyes, he turned quickly back to Cuddy.

'Wilson?' he gasped. Cuddy nodded her head toward a second bed at the far side of the room.

'He's out of danger. We transferred you both here from the ICU a few hours ago. He hasn't woken up yet but he's doing a lot better.' House breathed a sigh of relief. 'Which is more than I can say for you,' she continued. 'You're still very sick, House. You need lots of rest. If I even see you think about getting out of this bed again in the next few days I'll have you strapped down.' House rolled onto his side and smirked.

'In your fantasies,' he muttered. Before Cuddy could formulate a suitable reply, she noticed that House had fallen into a deep sleep.

Cuddy glanced at the two sleeping men and smiled. Her relief that they would both recover was exceeded only by her amazement. This time death had been far too close, for both of them. She had been certain many times over the past few days that she was going to lose one or both of them. When Wilson's vitals had begun to fade, his death had seemed inevitable. Even in the face of death House had been defiant, and, astonishingly, it had worked. House's words had seemingly pulled his friend back from the edge. Cuddy was once again stunned by the unlikely bond shared between the two.

The diagnostician's tenacity continued to amaze his boss on a virtually daily basis. Considering the number of times House had come close to killing himself since the two had met, it was a miracle the man's body hadn't given up long ago. Cuddy couldn't imagine life without either of the two men and was once again thankful that the pair had made it through their latest ordeal. There was still a need for her friends' emotional scars to heal, but for the first time Cuddy was confident their friendship would endure. Finally having received the reassurance that she needed, the Dean of Medicine left to claim her first real sleep in days.

--

When Wilson finally regained consciousness several days later, it was not the awakening he might have expected. As his mind slowly dug itself out of the fog it had been buried in for what seemed like weeks and slowly reconnected with his body, he became aware of a stabbing sensation in his side. It was almost as if he was being…prodded? What kind of idiot would be prodding an unconscious…oh!

'I know you're in there,' House's voice sounded from only a few feet away. 'I've been watching your EEG. Wake up already!' Wilson groaned inwardly. He had given up eternity with Amber for this? Torture by House for the next umpteen years? What had he been thinking? Unbidden, images flooded into his head of his distraught friend collapsing into Cuddy's arms. He shuddered. That _had_ been a dream, _hadn't it_? Newly convinced of his need to remain in the land of the living, Wilson forced himself to turn his head towards the sound of his friend's voice. Forcing his eyes to open, he was rewarded by the sight of Lisa Cuddy snatching House's cane, ostensibly the source of the aforementioned torture, from his friend's outstretched hand. For a moment neither of the two noticed that he had joined them.

'House, I allowed you to remain in the same room as Dr. Wilson on the proviso that you behaved. If I can't trust you to…what the hell are you smirking at?' House had finally noticed Wilson watching him and as the pair locked eyes, House's mouth curled up at the edges. Wilson found himself copying the gesture. Cuddy's face softened as she finally noticed the newly conscious oncologist. She was at his bedside in an instant, taking his hand in hers. 'How do you feel?' she asked softly.

Wilson considered the question for a moment. Given the circumstances he wasn't actually feeling all that bad. He felt very light-headed and his muscles ached but he figured that was to be expected. In fact, the only overriding sensation was one of complete and utter exhaustion. He was fighting to keep his eyes open and he was sure he didn't have the energy to formulate a sentence.

'Tired,' he managed to whisper, his voice weak from lack of use. Cuddy just nodded.

'Get some rest,' she instructed, resting her free hand on his arm and planting a kiss on his cheek. 'Welcome back, James.' The last thing Wilson heard as he drifted into a deep sleep was his friend's voice trying to get his attention.

'Hey, you can't go back to sleep now,' House called. 'This party's just getting started.' Wilson was still smiling when oblivion claimed him.

--

It was several days before Wilson was able to remain awake long enough to hold a conversation. When he opened his eyes, it was to find House sitting at the side of his bed studying him closely. As the oncologist in turn ran his eyes over his friend's face, he noticed the unhealthy pallor and deep lines that had not been present in the weeks before the bus crash. Wilson once again felt a pang of guilt that he had brought his friend to this. He shook his head sadly.

'You're an idiot, House.' His friend raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly.

'I think I'm going to have to get Cuddy to re-check you for brain damage,' he stated, 'I could have sworn you just called me an idiot.' Fighting back the urge to smile, the oncologist continued to stare earnestly at his friend.

'You nearly died, House. Again.' Try as he might, Wilson could not shake the guilt he associated with this thought.

'I didn't nearly die anywhere near as much as you nearly died,' the diagnostician argued. 'Besides, I,' he gestured, 'am a professional. I've got the nearly down to a fine art.' Wilson rolled his eyes.

'_I_ didn't do this on purpose,' he spluttered, 'whereas you…you need to learn that your life is just as valuable as everybody else's. Especially mine. It's not that I'm not grateful for what you did, I just want you to promise that you'll never, ever pull a stunt like that again.' House thought for a moment before responding.

'Sorry, Wilson, no can do. This is what I do, it's who I am. Like you've always told me, I have to solve the puzzle, no matter what the cost.'

'There was no puzzle this time, House. If I had been any other patient, you wouldn't have done what you did. You wouldn't even have taken the case in the first place.'

'You're my friend, Jimmy.' As Wilson's jaw dropped, House continued. 'I'm sorry I couldn't save her.' The diagnostician's voice dropped to a whisper. 'If I could have traded places with her I would have. I need you to know that.' Wilson sighed, now acutely aware of the guilt consuming his friend.

'You've already nearly killed yourself twice trying to prove that to me,' he began. 'It needs to stop.' His voice began to falter as he continued. 'I miss Amber, every minute of every day. Sometimes so much that I think I can't take it any more.' He began to cry as he continued. 'I will always wish that you hadn't called her that night and I will always wish that she hadn't followed you onto that bus, but I have never, even for a second, even when I was really mad at you, wished that it was you instead of her.'

'Perhaps you should have,' House responded quietly. 'Perhaps you should try hating me. You may find it helps.'

'Is that what you want?' Wilson demanded through his tears. House shook his head. 'Good,' Wilson responded. 'I don't think I could stand to be that alone.' He buried his head in his hands, sobbing. 'What am I going to do, House?' The diagnostician glanced around to ensure nobody was observing then carefully raised himself until he was sitting on the bed alongside his friend. House hesitantly wrapped his arms around the distraught oncologist and Wilson immediately buried his head in his friend's shoulder. House tightened his grip. When he spoke, it was in a gentle tone that even Wilson had never heard him use before.

'What you're going to do,' House informed the younger man, 'is concentrate on getting better so that Cuddy will let you out of here. Then, we're going to go back to my place, have a few beers, talk about this and give Amber a proper send off. Then,' he continued, 'we can take as long as you need to deal with this. I won't let you go through this on your own any more, I promise.' Feeling more at peace than he had at any time in the weeks since this nightmare began, Wilson allowed himself to fall asleep, protected by his friend's arms.


End file.
